


loose ends by the score

by coloredink



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Forgiveness, Knifeplay, M/M, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 08:44:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3603741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coloredink/pseuds/coloredink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s not a condition,” said Will.  “It’s a test.  I can touch you, but you can’t touch me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	loose ends by the score

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LazyBaker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyBaker/gifts).



“I forgive you,” Will said, “but only if you do something for me first.”

“Is it true forgiveness, if it’s conditional?” Hannibal asked, but it was not a question.

It was almost good to be like this together again, seated in opposing armchairs, even if those armchairs were in a hotel room instead of Hannibal’s sumptuous and now-shuttered office. Will almost wished for dim lighting, red-and-white curtains, and a loft to escape to.

“It’s not a condition,” said Will. “It’s a test. I can touch you, but you can’t touch me.”

Hannibal tilted his head. The gesture was so alien and reptilian that Will wondered he’d ever thought this man was human. “Touch?”

“Any kind of physical touch,” Will said. “Putting your hand on my shoulder, touching my face…” He took a deep breath. “Stabbing me with an instrument. We’ll make an exception for life-saving measures, if you need to administer CPR or save me from drowning,” he added.

Will let Hannibal have a moment to digest this. “But you would be able to do any of the above to me.”

“Yes.”

Hannibal took another moment. “How long would this take?”

“Until I decide.”

“And when would it begin?”

“Now.”

Hannibal pursed his lips. At last, he said, “All right.”

Will stood; if Hannibal was startled or threatened by this at all, he did not show it. “Come here.”

Hannibal hesitated, but only a moment. He stood, looked very much as if he wished he had cuffs to adjust, and finally took the few steps it took to cross the distance between them. As soon as he was within range, Will pulled Hannibal into a tight embrace. Hannibal stiffened and, by degrees, eventually relaxed.

“God, I fucking hate you,” Will whispered. “I missed you so much.”

\-----

Hannibal's apartment in Palermo was the opposite of his dark and cavernous spaces in Baltimore: small, bright, and airy, with yellow walls and potted orchids on the windowsills and not a single taxidermied animal head. The kitchen had maybe enough space for two people to work together.

Will could tell Hannibal was dismayed by the lack of amenities; his office had to double as a guest room, with a futon that folded down to a full-sized bed. Will pronounced it "perfectly serviceable," but Hannibal stood there for some moments with a faint line between his brows.

"It's more comfortable than my own bed at home," Will said, dryly. "Why don't you go make dinner or something?" At Hannibal's raised eyebrows, Will added, "You're not going to serve me people."

Hannibal didn't answer, but he did leave the room. Will finished hanging his shirts and used the bathroom to wash his face and hands. When he went out to the kitchen, Hannibal was chopping carrots.

He came up behind Hannibal and wrapped his arms around the other man's waist. Hannibal stiffened, as he had before; his knife hovered in the air. After a moment, Will let go and Hannibal resumed his activities.

"What's for dinner?" Will asked.

"Pasta e fagioli," Hannibal replied, "with pancetta. The pancetta is from the butcher," he added.

"Can I help?"

"No; this is a simple dish, and will be ready in twenty minutes. You may make yourself at home in the living room."

A step down and a screen were all that demarcated the eating area from the living room. No wall of herbs, though Will had seen, in the kitchen windowsill, basil and thyme and rosemary. He wandered to and fro, examining the bookshelves: Marcus Aurelius; Homer; Dante's Inferno; Milton's Paradise Lost; a book of plays by Chekhov. A pass-through in the wall between the rooms allowed Will to see and hear Hannibal's activity in the kitchen. He could smell sauteéd onion and something salty and meaty, like bacon.

No dinner parties here, or at least, not ones on the scale that he had had in Baltimore: the table seated only six people. No wine pantry; no antler chandeliers; Hannibal now wore leather jackets and rode a motorcycle. Will ran his hand over the back of a stag statue that served also as a bookend, swallowing against a nostalgia so strong it threatened to strangle him.

Hannibal appeared in the entryway. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Whatever you're having."

Hannibal poured them both glasses of wine. He set Will's on the table for him. Will took a seat. He tasted leather and tobacco and dark earth in the glass; he saw vines burst from the black soil and grow heavy with fruit.

"The trust you have in me, even now, is astonishing," said Hannibal.

"The same could be said for you."

"You're living under my roof, eating my food, drinking my wine," said Hannibal. "You've placed yourself completely at my mercy."

"You've accepted me into your home, given me your food, and poured me your wine," said Will. "You won't even hand me a wine glass, in case your fingers brush mine by accident. Aren't you equally at my mercy, if not more so?"

"What makes you think I will keep my promise?" asked Hannibal.

"What makes you think I'll keep mine?"

\-----

That night, as Will was getting ready for bed, he spied Hannibal lurking at the end of the hall. He looked as if he were just making himself available should Will have any need of toiletries or an extra towel, but Will knew better. "Get in here," he called.

Hannibal stood just outside the doorway. "What do you need?"

Will shook his head. "You want to see it, don't you?" When Hannibal didn't reply, Will said, "Don't stand all the way over there, come closer."

Hannibal came closer. Will finished unbuttoning his shirt and spread it open. He pulled up the hem of his undershirt and pushed down the waistband of his pants. The scar ran past his navel to his hip like a smile scrawled by the unsteady hand of a child. It was darker than the rest of his skin and hooked up toward the end, near his pelvis.

Hannibal studied it carefully, like an expert might study a painting for authenticity, but he did not move to touch it. He did not even get close enough to breathe on it. "It didn't heal well."

"I let it get infected," said Will. "I'm a terrible patient."

"Yes," said Hannibal. "I remember."

\-----

Hannibal came home with a bagful of groceries and--most peculiar--a pair of glasses perched on his face. He went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. In the pregnant pause that followed, Will left the couch and came to lean against the doorframe to the kitchen.

"This is a lot of meat," said Hannibal.

"I wanted to make sure you had enough."

"There's enough here for an army. We won't be able to eat it all before it spoils."

"You can freeze what you don't want to eat right away."

Hannibal sighed began removing vegetables from the paper bag on the counter. Will slid in beside him and touched the rim of his glasses. "What're these for? You don't need them." He took them off and put them on his own face. The view remained unchanged.

"Verisimilitude," Hannibal replied. "I believe you're familiar with the concept."

Will folded the glasses and left them on the counter. He looped one arm around Hannibal's shoulders. "Come here." 

Hannibal did not resist as Will pulled him into a hug, this one a little more awkward than the others because they were not quite facing each other. Will had one arm around Hannibal's shoulders and the other around his ribs. Hannibal's arms remained hanging at his sides, but Will could feel his breath.

"Why are you doing this?" Hannibal wondered.

"I told you: it's a test."

"A test of my patience," Hannibal muttered.

Will pulled away, but he didn't let go; he left his hand on Hannibal's shoulder.

"No one's touched you since I left, have they?" Hannibal said.

"Doctors," said Will. "Nurses. In the hospital."

"Professional. Clinical. No one's touched you with tenderness."

"No one since you, no." Will let his hand fall away as well. "You were always the one reaching out. A hand on my shoulder, a hand on my face. I never touched you like that."

"No, you never did."

Will pulled a flat packet, wrapped in butcher paper, from the bottom of the grocery bag. He didn't recognize the label, which was in Italian, but he realized after opening it that he should have: _Sarde_. But these were not the headless, foul-smelling filets swimming in canned oil that he recalled from his childhood; they were bright-eyed and silver, shaped like knife blades, and still smelled of the sea. "Sardines?"

"Sicily is bordered by three oceans," said Hannibal. "Seafood holds pride of place in the cuisine here."

"Wonderful," Will declared, an unbearable lightness swelling up in his heart.

\-----

"Excuse me, where is the Norman Chapel?"

It took Will several tries before he found someone who spoke English, and who understood his question. It turned out there was nothing in Palermo called the "Norman Chapel"--but there was the Capella Palatina, "used by the Norman kings," said the old map-seller. "I would call that a 'Norman Chapel.' It's in the center of the Palazzo Reale." He circled it on a map for Will and sold it to him for one euro.

Palermo was a city of arches: over doorways, over windows, and inside the cavernous cathedrals and churches that were such a part of the cityscape. Will walked the streets slowly, hands in his pockets, admiring architecture that had formed this city before the first colonist had set foot in the Americas. His steps were light, unencumbered by guidebook or phone or identification or, indeed, anything in his pockets except for a roll of euros, Hannibal's spare keys, and now a map.

It was getting on toward summer, and it was warm, but not too hot; Will had suffered stickier nights in Louisiana. He looked like any other American tourist, in sunglasses and shorts and a t-shirt, stopping every so often to peer in a bakery window or admire a weather-washed statue. Will couldn't remember the last time he had been beholden to no one. Perhaps never. Here there was not even a dog to call him home.

He found no skull among the beautiful geometry on the Capella Palatina's floor.

Afterward, he stopped in a coffeeshop and purchased a coffee, a sandwich, and a cannolo. The sandwich was excellent, as was all the food here, but the cannolo was divine: the pastry shattered in just the right way, and it was sweet but not cloying. Will purchased another one and ate it in the street, and that and the coffee buoyed him all the way down to the beach. He found the sands choked with tourists and locals enjoying the fine weather, and Will turned around and headed home, where he was glad to get into the shower and wash away the day's sweat.

Will came out of the bathroom with an exhale of steam, towel wrapped around his waist. He stopped, startled, to see Hannibal in the entryway, still wearing his glasses and holding his briefcase. "Oh, hey. I didn't think you'd be home so early." Water dripped from his hair onto the nape of his neck.

Hannibal's nostrils flared. "You went to the beach."

"You can still smell that?" Will could smell nothing but Hannibal's soap and shampoo, clean and delightfully masculine. "What else can you smell?"

"I am not a wizard, and it is not a trick for your amusement." But Hannibal sounded amused. He was still standing in the entryway. Will wondered that he hadn't at least put down his briefcase.

"Oh." Will stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Hannibal. Hannibal's sharp intake of breath warmed Will's belly like whiskey. He was aware that he was still damp; probably he was getting water on Hannibal's clothes.

He stepped back. Hannibal looked at him, inscrutable. Will smiled and, without another word, went back to his room to put on clothes.

\-----

That night, Will went to Hannibal's bedroom and found the door slightly ajar. Perhaps it had been the night before, as well, and the night before that. Will hesitated on a threshold a moment before pushing the door open. "Hannibal?"

Hannibal was propped up in bed, the covers pulled halfway up his legs, face illuminated by the bluish-white glow of his tablet. He switched the tablet off and set it on the nightstand. "What is it?"

Will climbed onto the bed. Hannibal regarded him with wariness, but no fear. Will wondered if Hannibal was afraid of anything. He positioned himself so that he was straddling Hannibal's legs, put his hands around Hannibal's throat, and pressed down and in until Hannibal couldn't even struggle for air.

Silence in the room, except for Will's harsh breathing. His heartbeat banged in his ears. Hannibal's hands remained quiescent in his lap. He was the sort to sleep with a knife under his pillow or in his bedside drawer, but he gave no sign or movement, except for a fluttering of his eyelids and the futile spasm of his nostrils.

Will let go when Hannibal's face began to change color. Hannibal gasped and then coughed, banging back against the headboard. He tilted his head upward and continued to draw deep breaths, in through his nose and out through his mouth. Will crouched on all fours over Hannibal; he felt like panting himself. His finger-marks showed livid against the pale skin of Hannibal's neck.

"Would you have let me?" Will asked.

Hannibal kept his eyes closed. "You wouldn't kill me."

"But you would have let me. If I'd kept going."

Hannibal did not reply, and at last, Will left.

\-----

Will came up behind Hannibal as he was doing the dishes, and instead of winding his arms around Hannibal's waist as he usually did, he reached up and dug his thumbs into Hannibal's shoulders. Hannibal grunted and his hands slowed, and then stilled, as Will worked his thumbs in opposing circles.

"You're very tense," Will observed.

"Perhaps I'm tense because there is a man in my home who has promised me a reckoning, and he persists in constantly intruding upon my personal space."

Will dug in with his knuckle. Hannibal made another noise and braced his soapy hands against the counter. "This would be easier if you were sitting down," Will said. "Or lying down."

Hannibal shut off the water and dried his hands. They decamped to the living room, where Hannibal sat in one of the armchairs and Will stood behind him, working up and down Hannibal's shoulders and partway down his back. Hannibal's head bowed forward, little by little.

"I wasn't aware this was one of your skills," Hannibal said.

"Big hit with the ladies," Will explained.

"Mmm."

Will's hands hurt after a while; it'd been a long time since he'd done this for anyone. He slowed and then stopped, simply running his hands down Hannibal's shoulders and upper arms. "What do you normally do in the evenings?"

"What you've seen me do: read, write, draw. Sometimes I have company. Sometimes I go out."

"Go out" could mean a lot of things: the opera, the symphony, a party at someone's house. Or out in the dark, armed with syringe and scalpel.

Will let his hands come to rest over Hannibal's chest. "Let's watch a movie."

Hannibal opened his eyes, his expression incredulous. "At the cinema?"

"No, I mean here. Do you have Netflix?"

Hannibal craned his neck around to look at Will.

" _I_ have Netflix," Will said. "Helped pass the time, when I couldn't do shit after the hospital. Download the app onto your tablet and we'll use my login."

Somewhat to Will's surprise, Hannibal did. They propped it up in its holder on the coffee table and sat on the couch together to watch _Hell's Kitchen_. Will relaxed back into the cushions and wished he had a beer. Hannibal watched with his arms across his chest and a faint furrow in his brow.

"You chose this show to annoy me," Hannibal said, after the introduction.

"Yep."

Hannibal made a faint grumbling sound and made as if to get up from the couch, but Will reached out and hauled him back in. He pulled until they were both half-reclined, Hannibal with his head on Will's chest and Will with both arms around Hannibal's torso. Hannibal had gone tense again.

"What on Earth compels you about this show?" Hannibal asked, after a few more minutes.

"I watched a lot of cooking shows while I was recovering," Will answered.

Hannibal made no reply.

"Are they going to cook at any point?" Hannibal asked, after another minute.

"Eventually."

The chefs began to present Gordon Ramsay with their signature dishes, and Hannibal grumbled that the camera hardly allowed you to see the food.

"Shhh," Will said absently. He massaged Hannibal's scalp.

Halfway through the episode, Will realized Hannibal hadn't made any complaints in a while, and that the rise and fall of his chest had gone deep and even. Will looked down; Hannibal's eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted. Will went very, very still, retrieving his hand from Hannibal's now thoroughly mussed hair.

His back complained the uncomfortable position, but Will didn't move. He lay there, curled around Hannibal, while on the screen, another contestant's portrait went up in flames.

\-----

"Would you trust me to shave you?"

Hannibal met Will's gaze in the mirror, his fingertips still on his jaw. "Not now," he said. "It would take too long, and I'm meeting someone this morning. But tomorrow."

The next morning, Hannibal emerged from the shower steaming and damp and said to Will, "Come." Will found a chair already set up in the bathroom, and shaving cream, a straight razor, and aftershave laid out on the counter. Hannibal sat in the chair, hands curled over the ends of the armrests, and tilted his head back until it was almost horizontal.

Will had spent the previous day watching YouTube videos and had a reasonable idea of what to do. He whipped up the shaving cream with the little brush and bowl provided and brushed it over Hannibal's jaw and partway down his throat, and across his upper lip. Hannibal kept his eyes closed. Will picked up the straight razor, swallowed, and made the first pass. No bloom of blood erupted on Hannibal's skin, and Will let out his breath. 

He worked slowly, in small strokes; the position was surely not comfortable for Hannibal, but Hannibal did not complain. He kept his eyes closed and his breathing even as Will scraped the blade through foam and stubble, sometimes using his thumb or two fingers to tug and tauten the skin. This close, he could see every crease in Hannibal's face, each fine eyelash, every tiny scar. It was easier than he expected.

Before long, all the foam was gone, and it was just Will, running two fingers over Hannibal's face and checking for rough patches. When he found one, in went the razor, to carve it away. He washed those parts of Hannibal down the drain and wiped away the remainder of the foam. He applied the aftershave oil. The scent of sandalwood rose warm and spicy around them. Hannibal's face was soft and malleable under his hands.

When Will could think of no more reasons to linger, he stepped away and washed his hands.

Hannibal opened his eyes. He sat up straight and worked his neck from side to side. He felt his jaw. "A good job," he said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Will said. He met Hannibal's eyes in the mirror and smiled. Hannibal did not smile back.

\-----

Hannibal came for him in the hallway, as Will was going to fetch a glass of water before bed.

Will saw the glint of silver in Hannibal's hand, but it was too late; Hannibal was too fast and too close, and the hallway too narrow. Will felt himself knocked against the wall and closed his eyes.

He opened them again a moment later. Hannibal's face was inches away from his. Will had his back flat against the wall and couldn't see the knife, but he could feel it millimeters away from his throat. He swallowed. "Why don't you do it?" he asked.

Hannibal's eyes were so dark and so fathomless. He was close enough that Will could smell his breath and feel his body heat, but Hannibal's knife had not even so much brushed his skin. His other hand gathered in a futile fist by Will's elbow and came up to press against the plaster by Will's ear. Hannibal leaned in, teeth bared, but still he did not touch.

Will didn't dare breathe as he brought his hand up to close around Hannibal's fingers. The knife came away in his hand, as easy as plucking a ripe apple from a tree. Hannibal didn't move. The knife, a switchblade with a four inch blade and a down-curved handle, fit well in Will's palm. He contemplated it for a moment, while Hannibal just stood there and breathed. Finally, he tapped it against Hannibal's side. Hannibal stopped breathing.

"Take off your shirt," Will said.

Hannibal pulled off his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor. He waited, hands at his sides, as Will ran his hand over Hannibal's ribs. Hannibal was in enviable condition for any man, not just one of his age: no exaggerated six-pack, but a lean swimmer's body and well-defined muscles. Will trailed the tip of the knife past Hannibal's navel to his hip.

"This is what you're waiting for me to do to you, isn't it?" Will said. "A reckoning."

"You deserve it," Hannibal replied.

"This isn't about what either of us deserve." Will ran the knife up Hannibal's chest to his nipple. It pebbled against the brush of cold steel. Will looked up and saw Hannibal watching him. "What do you think I'm going to do?"

"I don't know."

"You let me have the knife."

"I never could predict you," Hannibal said, almost gently, as if Will were a child struggling to understand a lie.

Will's fingers tightened around the handle until it creaked. "Are you enjoying this?"

"Aren't you? Here I am, naked and helpless before you."

"You're not naked yet," Will said, "and you've never been helpless. Take off the rest of your clothes and get on the bed."

Hannibal dropped his trousers right there in the hallway, followed shortly by his boxer-briefs. Will followed him to the bedroom, knife still in hand. Hannibal lay face down on the bed, and Will got into the bed with him, maneuvering on bent knees. He turned on the bedside lamp, which cast a soft golden glow over the curves and valleys of Hannibal's body.

"You're imagining all the things I might do right now." Will drew the knife down along Hannibal's spine, counting vertebrae as he went. When he got to the bottom, he brought the knife around to follow the curve of Hannibal's bottom rib. Gooseflesh rose in the blade's wake. "I could hurt you. Very badly."

"You could."

Will trailed the knife over Hannibal's hip, down the back of his knee, and across his Achilles tendon. "I could make sure you didn't die. That you live, and suffer and suffer and suffer."

"I know."

Will pulled on Hannibal's shoulder and hip until he turned onto his side, and then pushed until Hannibal lay on his back. He swung one leg over Hannibal's body until he was crouched over him on all fours, as he had that night when he'd come and pinned Hannibal by the throat. He held the knife over Hannibal's hand, pressing down on the point just hard enough that Hannibal would know it was there. Hannibal gazed up at him, unblinking.

"What should I do, then?" Will asked.

"Whatever you want," Hannibal answered.

Will pressed his lips together. Hannibal continued to breathe, deep and regular. Will got off the bed. He put the knife on the nightstand. He took off his own shirt and pants and, after a moment's brief hesitation, his boxers too. He looked back at Hannibal, who hadn't moved, though his eyes tracked Will's every movement. Will got back on the bed and pulled down the covers. "Get in."

After a startled moment, Hannibal got under the covers. Will got in after him and wrapped himself around Hannibal's body, skin to skin. Hannibal trembled, and Will closed his eyes.

\-----

Hannibal was gone when Will opened his eyes the next morning, but he could hear movement in one of the outer rooms. The cocoon under the covers was still warm with Hannibal's heat. Will scrubbed one hand over his face and blew a breath out between his lips. He crawled out of bed, found his boxers, and put those on, but nothing else.

Hannibal's clothes were gone from the hallway floor. The man himself was in the kitchen, peeling potatoes into the sink. He did not look up as Will entered.

Will took a deep breath. "I forgive you."

Hannibal abandoned the knife and the potatoes in the sink and went to Will. Will opened his arms for him. Hannibal clutched him close and held him tight, as close and tight as he had in his kitchen in Baltimore, a long, long time ago.

**Author's Note:**

> [coloredink.tumblr.com](http://coloredink.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [sumiwrites.wordpress.com](https://sumiwrites.wordpress.com/) (if you wanna see the books I've written)


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